Home is Where the Heart is
by mosylu
Summary: Ginny's left Hogwarts now, and she can do anything she likes. But all she wants is Harry . . . A sequel to Home For Christmas
1. Part One

__

This is a sequel to "Home For Christmas", and starts quite shortly after that story ends. Enjoy. Oh, and American readers remember: Pissed means drunk in England, not mad!

Snow was falling, coating the ground in a muffling blanket of white. Ginny breathed out and watched the resultant cloud melt a snowflake. She caught one on her tongue.

"Oy! Wee One!"

She looked up. Fred and George were tramping up the lane, grinning at her. "Happy New Year!" she called out.

"Are we too late?"

"We stopped in Diagon Alley to visit the party and someone--"

"Lots of someones--"

"Bought us drinks."

"Don't worry, we're not pissed."

"You've got half an hour. Why so popular?" Ginny enquired, crunching down the snowed-in steps to meet them.

Fred and George grinned identical evil grins. "I reckon it's the Ars Amatoria candles we came up with."

Ginny grinned back at them. "Does Mum know about those?"

Fred winked. "No, but Dad does."

"Eurgh!"

"You asked," said George unrepentently, leaning down to kiss her. To Ginny's dismay, she had not grown a single centimeter since fifth year--a definite disadvantage when all her brothers towered over her.

Fred elbowed George aside to kiss Ginny's other cheek. "Harry still here?" he asked gently.

Ginny, not trusting her voice, nodded.

"Still--the same?"

She nodded again.

The twins looked at each other, and whatever silent communication passed between them caused her to be enfolded in a Ginny-sandwich of a hug a moment later. "Come on, Ginny-Ginny-wee-one," Fred said, his arm still around her shoulders. "Let's get in the warm."

She ducked out from under his arm. "I think I'll stay out here a little. It's not too cold."

They looked at each other again. Strangely enough, Fred and George seemed to understand her in this matter better than any one of her other brothers. "All right," George said. "But not too long, mind. Mum'll have our heads if you catch pneumonia."

She watched the snow for several more minutes, her lighthearted mood gone. She hadn't taken much joy in anything for six months. How could she, when _he_ was wandering the world, in who-knew-what kind of danger?

When Harry had appeared on Christmas night, whole and safe, coated with snow and bearing gifts, her heart had almost leapt out of her mouth. She'd cringed at the inanity of her greeting_: Hello, Harry--Happy Christmas_. Argh! 

It had taken half the dinner for her to regain her composure.

He was still Harry, the Boy Who Lived, the boy who'd been her brother's best friend for nearly eight years now, the boy she'd loved for most of her life, and yet . . . no longer a boy. He was taller, leaner, quieter. He'd never been a big talker, especially about himself, but he'd barely said a word about his travels in the week he'd been here. 

And then there was the white in his hair . . . 

"Oh--sorry--I didn't know you were out here."

She turned around, feeling a prickle of dejâ vu. "It's all right," she said. "It's a free porch."

He gave her a tentative smile, coming to lean on the snowy railing three feet away from her. In the moonlight, the planes and angles of his face were sharply delineated, and in his hair, the white tufts seemed to glow.

Before she knew she was going to, Ginny blurted, "What happened?"

He turned his head to look at her. Moonlight glinted off his glasses and hid his eyes from her. "What do you mean?"

Her question _had_ been a bit vague . . . and more than a bit nosy. Ginny decided she didn't care how rude it had been--she wanted to know. "Your hair. How did it--"

He reached up and touched one of the white spots, the largest. "This, you mean."

"Yes."

He turned his face back to the yard. "Dunno. They just started showing up. I don't even know when--Krum mentioned them when I was at Durmstrang and I suddenly realized they'd been there for some time." He shot her a little sideways glance from behind his glasses. "Bet you were hoping for something more interesting--like more curse scars."

She shook her head vehemently, still staring at the white patches. She didn't want him ever to have any more curse scars. "Did you have them looked at? They could be part of a spell--you could be sick--"

"I did all that," Harry said. "The minute I figured it out. Nothing. The witch said they were probably just from stress."

"She could have missed something--" Ginny knew she sounded like her mother, but she couldn't help herself . . . Harry had already been through so much, and if there was some sort of spell laid on him, she wanted to know so she could--what? Do _something_ else than sitting around on the sidelines, the way it seemed she'd done her whole life. Especially with Harry.

"Every place I went, I had them looked at. They're nothing. The apothecary wizard at the Colonial School practically tied me down to look at them. He tried every diagnostic spell he knew, and there was nothing--and he's famous all up and down the East Coast for medicine. Even some Muggles know of him."

Reluctantly, Ginny left it. "The Colonial School--where's that?"

Harry's tense shoulders relaxed--he must have been braced for more questions about his white patches. "Maine," he answered readily. "It was the last place I was before I came back."

"That's in the States, isn't it?"

"The eastern coast, yeah. Way up north. Freezing." Harry gave an exaggerated shiver.

"Did you like it there?"

He paused, thinking about it. "Well . . . it was odd. The place was built two hundred and fifty years ago, by American witches and wizards who wanted their own school in the colonies--they were still colonies then, you know."

Ginny dredged up her sketchy memory of Muggle history. "But rebelling, weren't they?" 

"Oh--yeah--well, that was the other reason they wanted to build their own school." Harry grinned wryly. "Well, _they'd_ all been trained at Hogwarts, so they sort of . . . built what they knew."

"Oh--it looked a little like Hogwarts, then--"

"Almost exactly. Turrets and everything--" Harry laughed a little. "Sitting there in the middle of Maine--it looked so odd, you don't even know. I kept looking around for Hogsmeade, and Hagrid's hut . . . I just got so bloody homesick all of a sudden, because it was Hogwarts and it _wasn't_--" He fell silent. "I don't s'pose even Hogwarts looks the same anymore," he said after several long moments.

Ginny said, "They rebuilt the Great Hall first thing . . . and the greenhouses, of course Professor Sprout demanded those be taken care of . . . and the Ravenclaw tower just got finished." She bit her lip, remembering how the originals had come to be destroyed. "Must be odd for you, not being at Hogwarts anymore. I mean--" she fumbled, when he looked at her again, "--I mean, you've been there for the past seven years."

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I do miss it."

When he didn't seem inclined to go on, she said, "It was so funny, September first, getting on the Express without anyone--"

"What about your friends? Carmen and Jeremy?"

"Well, them, yes, of course--but no brothers." She paused and then decided to say it anyway. "No you."

"Ginny--"

"What do you miss most?" she asked quickly, suddenly fearful of what he was about to say to her in that leaden, reluctant voice. "About Hogwarts?"

He closed his mouth, then shrugged. "Dunno." He thought about it, tapping his fingers in the snow on the railing. "Feasts," he decided. "The ceiling of the Great Hall. The dormitory. Mail in the morning. The professors."

"Even Snape?"

He snorted with laughter. "Well--yeah."

"No!"

He nodded. "Pitting my wits, see," he explained, and continued. "Quidditch--even the insane morning practices Wood used to have us do, before he left. Divination homework with Ron. Talking Hermione into breaking rules. Mediating between the two of them. The giant squid. Seeing who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is. Hogsmeade weekends." He shrugged. "Everything. I miss it all." He paused, studying the railing and the little holes his tapping fingers had made in the snow. "But most--"

"Yes?"

"I miss _belonging_ there," he said in a rush. "I never used to belong anywhere, you know--before. But at Hogwarts, I did--and now--"

Now he was wandering the world, Ginny thought, with no real home of his own. While his scar and his name were welcome anywhere, there was no place he really knew, or that really knew him, except for England. "You could come back," she said gently. "To Hogwarts. To teach or something. I'm sure they'd love to have you."

He shook his head. "It wouldn't be the same," he told her. "I'm done. I've left." He grimaced. "And I definitely left my mark."

_On a lot of things_, Ginny thought ruefully.

He was still speaking. "Besides, I'm not sure if I want to teach. I'm not sure _what_ I want to do with myself now."

He looked so somber that she had to say, "I'll bet you haven't had a good snowball fight in a year."

He gave her a puzzled look. "No--actually I haven't."

"Well then . . ." With one swift movement, she plastered his face with the snowball she'd been hiding behind her back.

"Argh!"

She danced out of reach while he was still wiping snow off his glasses. "Come on then! Are you scared of me?"

"Too right I am!" he asserted, putting his glasses back on but staying on the porch. "I've seen what you can do with a Quaffle!"

"Come on, Seeker! See if you can get me!" She pulled a face, sticking out her tongue and waggling her fingers at him. She was being purposely silly, hoping to make him laugh out loud as he hadn't all week.

"Oh, no, your mum would kill us both if we came in all over snow--" But he was surreptitiously scooping together a fat ball from the porch railing. 

Ginny ducked it, then took off across the front yard, laughing. Harry gave chase, firing snowballs faster than she could make them while running. Whatever Harry had been doing with himself all around the world, he'd certainly kept in shape.

He had longer legs than she did, too--a definite disadvantage. She whipped round the edge of the house and dove behind the chimney to catch her breath and consider her strategy.

As quickly as she could, she stockpiled ammunition in the corner created by the chimney and the wall. After a moment, she heard the muffled crunching of someone trying to tiptoe through half a foot of snow. Taking up one snowball in each hand, she carefully peered around the corner--

And got a faceful of snow.

She squealed aloud, but when her eyes finally cleared, she saw Harry crouched before her, reaching for her ammunition stock. She took the oppurtunity to stuff both her snowballs down the back of his cloak while he was distracted.

"Aughh!" He chucked snow in her face, but he hadn't had time to pack it properly, and it brushed harmlessly over her skin. She squealed again anyway, for the fun of it, and diving for two of her stockpile, scooted down the wall.

He came after her, two more of her own snowballs in his hands. "Give up?" he shouted. 

"Never! Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!" Ginny hadn't the foggiest what a _torpedo_ was, but she'd always liked the sound of the Muggle phrase.

He fired. She ducked, but got hit by the second one, fired directly after the first and at a lower trajectory. He hadn't lost any of his strategy while traveling either.

There was a squeak from the window as Ron shoved it up and thrust his head outside. "What are you two _doing_ out there? It's nearly midnight!"

"Nothing," Ginny singsonged innocently, pressing one of the balls from her stockpile into Harry's hand as he came up behind her.

"Nothing at _all_," Harry said, and, reaching up, plastered Ron's face with snow.

"Agh!" Ron swiped at his face. "Right, Potter--you'll pay for that--" The window banged down as Ron ran off.

Ginny burst at laughing, and finally Harry began to laugh too. Their mirth redoubled every time they looked at each other, to the point that Ginny's stomach began to hurt in the lovely ache of shared laughter. They both fell to their knees in the snow, and she had to lean on Harry to even stay partially upright. 

She looked up into his eyes as he laughed with her, and they were bright and sparkling, with none of the shadows that had been there, and he was just Harry_, her_ Harry . . . 

Her laughter faded. So did his, but his eyes were still bright as he looked down at her.

"Take me with you," she said suddenly. "When you leave."

Her words seemed to suck away the remainder of Harry's mirth. He stared at her, his eyes dark again, for several seconds. "Why?" he asked finally.

She bit her lip. "I--I've always wanted to travel more," she offered lamely. "I liked going to Romania . . . and Egypt . . . it's fascinating . . . "

"But that was with your family," he said softly. "It would be different with me."

Oh, how she hoped so. "I know."

He looked away and got up, brushing snow out of his hair off and off his clothes. 

"You're going to say no, aren't you."

He swallowed hard. "Ginny . . . I _can't_ say yes, don't you see?"

"Why not?"

"You--you can't Apparate yet."

"I take the test in May. I've been studying."

"I run into a lot of strange things--they seem to follow me around--"

"You've managed, and I survived the Battle of Hogwarts the same as you."

He looked up sharply. "You're still at Hogwarts, Ginny," he said with an air of finality. "You can't."

"I'm in my seventh year."

"But you're not _done._"

"What does that matter?"

"No. The last half of seventh year is the most important."

She narrowed her eyes at him. As the youngest of a large family, she was accustomed to being told when she was too young or inexperienced for something that she saw everyone else doing, and she also knew when it was being used as an excuse.

He looked so miserable, standing there in snow to his ankles, trying to save her from herself, that she relented. "Will you take me with you this summer?" she asked instead. "When I'm done?"

When he said, "Yes," she knew he was lying. But she let it go . . . for the moment.


	2. Part Two

It was high summer, and the Burrow was in a fever of excitement. Fred was finally marrying Angelina, and Weasleys and Johnsons were pouring in from every corner of England. Since, like the Weasleys, the Johnsons scorned the idea of a nuclear family with less than five members, the Burrow was bursting at the seams.

One person, however, had not yet showed up to claim his bed in Ron's room.

"I'd've thought Harry would've come back for this, at least," Ron mumbled, so morose he almost forgot to swipe a fingerful of the icing Ginny was stirring in a bowl. "We sent him--ow!--an invitation." He sucked his knuckles where she had whacked him with the spoon.

"Maybe Pig got lost," George suggested.

Ron sent him a killing look. "My owl doesn't get lost," he said. "He's a bit stupid about what he does when he gets there, but he does _not_ bloody get lost."

Ginny was able to laugh at this. It was so like Ron--he could complain all he wanted about Pig, but let anyone else so much as utter a bad word and Ron was flaring up in defense.

But she sat that night on the back porch, watching Percy and Charlie going at it hammer and tongs over the arrangement of the yard--"Look, if you do it that way, the sun's going to be all in everyone's eyes--" "But this way, it's easier to move the chairs for the dancing!"--she couldn't help but be worried. While his letters had become a little more frequent, they hadn't heard from Harry since Ron had sent the invitation a month earlier. What _if_ he'd never recieved it? At Christmas, when Fred had told him, he'd said he wouldn't miss it--and Harry kept his word on things like that, usually. What if he was somewhere in great danger and couldn't even get word to them, much less come to a wedding?

She shook herself. Harry was a strong, smart, capable man. He'd been wandering for nearly a year now, and by his own admission he'd run across some rather strange things in that time. He could probably handle himself.

But she still had to worry.

And worse yet--what if he was perfectly fine? What if he just didn't want to come back because of _her_?

She finally got up and went into the house, leaving the argument behind her.

  


* * *

  


Morning came, with no Harry. Ron's face was even longer than Hermione's. Even Mrs. Weasley, as involved as she was in preparation, was worried, but there was very little time to discuss it. All was chaos.

Ginny came downstairs to tell her mother where the bridesmaids' shoes were (a box in the hall closet) and was promptly drafted to hold little Amos as Penny, who had a dab hand with decoration charms, put the finishing touches on the mountainous cake. She took her nephew willingly. "Hello, darling boy," she cooed, propping him on her hip. "D'you want to walk about with Auntie Ginny for a time?"

"Garaaaaaaaaaaaahblg!"

Taking that as a "yes", she carried him out of the tumult of the kitchen and into the yard, which was no less tumultuous. Charlie and Percy had reached an accord on the placement of the chairs, but they still had to be all set up. Bill was helping them with it, with the result that at least three chairs were in the air at any given time, and usually more. Ginny stayed out of the way.

Amos recognized his father and started to babble loudly, reaching out his hands. Percy came over and Ginny passed the baby to him. "It looks nice, Percy," she said.

"Charlie saw reason," Percy said smugly. "Ouch! Amos, stop it--" Amos had a chunk of his father's hair in a tight grasp. Percy's son seemed to like hair, especially Weasley hair.

_Percy's son--_how strange to think that her big brother, whom she had seen on his first day of school, and fighting with her other brothers, and in his awkward teenage gangliness, was married and had a child of his own. As he sighed and smiled at the same time at Amos's stubborness, Ginny was swamped with a wave of envy.

Percy was right where he wanted to be. He had the job he wanted, he had the mate he wanted, and he had the first of the children he wanted.

Charlie and Bill, although lacking the second two parts, were happy with their lives. Fred and George, with their joke shop and their fiancèes (one of whom would be a wife soon) were happy too. Even Ron, low on the totem pole as he was at MLES, was ecstatic to have it, along with Hermione and their . . . whatever. All her brothers had found what they were looking for.

And where was she?

Still waiting for her life to begin.

Bill and Charlie had come over to pass the baby around between them. As the first baby of the new generation, Amos was thoroughly spoiled and loving it. At the moment, he was gnawing on the base of Charlie's wand.

Percy was frowning. "Don't let him eat that, Charlie--"

"Oh, lighten up, Perce," Charlie said. "The worst he can do is make sparks."

Percy took the wand away and handed Amos back to Ginny before he could start bellowing at the loss of his toy. "I think you'd better take him to the front yard," he said. "We've got to finish setting up before people get here."

Charlie, wiping his drooled-upon wand on his robes, gave Ginny a grin. "We'll be fine, Perce," he said, and to Ginny, "I'll be around front to play with him once we're done. I don't get to see him enough. He'll forget I exist."

"That's because you never come home," Ginny said, and bore Amos away.

She was lying on her stomach in the grass, tickling his nose with a few blades to make him giggle, when he looked up over her head. She looked up too, expecting to see Charlie or Bill, or both.

It was Harry.

"You came," she said inanely, squinting up at him. The sun was directly behind him, blinding her.

"I did promise," he said.

"I know, but--"

"But--?"

"You didn't write."

"I know. I'm sorry." He set his bag and broom down on the grass and crouched, touching one long finger to Amos's bright hair.

"Percy and Penny's son," Ginny explained. She couldn't stop looking at him, now that she could without the sun interfering. His hair was longer, curling gently around the nape of his neck and falling untidily into his eyes. One of the white tufts was in the middle of his fringe, standing out brightly. Three, four, five . . . There were no more of them, thank goodness. He was more tanned than he had been at Christmastime, and his robes were a little more ragged.

He looked wonderful.

"Amos," Harry said. "Ron wrote."

Ginny said gently, "We were _hoping_ you'd come back for the christening." She couldn't help herself--she'd wished so hard . . . 

"I got the invitation," Harry said, withdrawing his hand from Amos's little head. "I was in South Africa, and I was . . . in the middle of something. I wanted to come, but I couldn't."

He looked up at her, and some of the doubt must have showed in her eyes, for he said, "I--really. I couldn't leave."

Ginny felt at a disadvantage, lying down while Harry crouched, so she pushed herself to a sitting position and held her arms out to Amos. Always willing to be carried, he held up his own arms, and she picked him up and settled him before rising to her feet.

Harry got to his feet too. "Seems odd--you being an aunt--"

Ginny's mouth quirked up. "Why? The only wonder is that it hasn't happened before."

Harry smiled a little, at himself. "I know, but I can't imagine it for myself, and you're so much younger than I am . . ."

Her brows drew together. "I'm not so young as all that, Harry Potter. I've left Hogwarts."

He looked at her sharply. Had he _forgotten? _"You're sixteen."

"Seventeen." Did she _look_ sixteen? She'd always been a year and three months younger than he. It wasn't something that was likely to have changed.

"Still--I'm nineteen," he said.

"I'll be eighteen in October," she said, her voice a little sharper than she'd meant it to be. "I'm not a _child."_

He looked at her until her stomach started to jump. Then he said in a soft voice, "It'd be easier if you were."

He remembered, all right, she realized suddenly. Oh, yes, he remembered--but he didn't _want_ to, for some reason, acknowledge that she was as grown as he was. He would've preferred her to be a child still.

Now this was a pretty pickle.

Fortunately, Amos chose that uncomfortable moment to grab her hair. "Oh! Amos--let go--"

"I've got it--" Harry gently disentangled her hair from the chubby, clutching fngers.

"Thank you," she said, shifting Amos slightly. The baby had latched onto Harry's finger and was gumming the very tip of it. Harry was watching, fascinated.

Ginny realized that, quite apart from her own extensive experience with cousins and neighbors, Harry had probably never had much contact with babies. "Would you like to hold him?" she offered.

He instinctively drew back. "But I've--never--"

"You'd better learn, then, " she said, holding Amos out so that Harry had no choice but to take him. "Especially if you're going to be associated with this family. There--set him on your hip--one arm under his bum--there. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Like the natural athlete he was, Harry had instinctively adjusted the curve of his spine to balance out the weight of the baby, and Amos looked perfectly comfortable. Harry looked dazed, and then fascinated again by the tiny piece of life he held in his arms.

The baby reached out, and Ginny winced. But instead of grabbing for Harry's hair, or earlobe, or even his glasses, Amos patted Harry very softly on the face with his tiny hands.

Harry blinked several times--he must have been braced for a grab, as well. Then he smiled his slow sweet smile and said, "What d'you think? Do I rate?" to the baby.

Ginny was surprised into a giggling sort of snort. Ron made horrible fun of her for talking to the baby as if he could talk back, and here was Harry doing the _exact_ same thing--

"She's laughing at us," Harry told the baby indignantly. "Listen to that."

Amos burbled.

  


* * *

  


After Ginny had given into good manners, taken Amos back, and sent Harry inside to deposit himself in Ron's room, she barely got a chance to see him. She had to be bundled away for the necessary brushing and lacquering and female things that accompanied a bridesmaid's duties.

She was distracted throughout the process, wondering if Harry remembered his promise at New Year's, wondering if he'd thought of her, wondering . . . just wondering.

"Ginny!"

She looked up. "Sorry, Mum, what?"

Her mother half-laughed at her. "Nervous, dear?"

"No," she answered honestly. "Distracted."

"Well, stand up and let's have a look at you."

Ginny stood obediently, and gave a little twirl. She knew what she looked like--she'd seen herself in the full-length mirror. Her silky robes were a lovely blue-green color and fell rippling to the floor. Hermione had pulled her hair sleekly back from her face, so it shone like polished copper, and had firmly vetoed the idea of putting on more than absolutely minimal makeup. Ginny had argued this, until she'd realized with the sleek hair and the simple robes, too much makeup would just look ridiculous.

Her mother looked at her for so long, however, that Ginny began to get nervous. "Mum?"'

"Oh--Ginny--" Her mother's voice was choked. "When did this happen?"

Alarmed, all Ginny could say was, "What?"

"When did you go and grow up on me?" Her mother gave a great sniff and wiped away tears. 

"Oh, _Mum _. . ."

Her mum flapped a hand at her. "Sit down, dear, I need to give you something."

Ginny sat again, starting to get a little teary-eyed herself. Her mother reached in a pocket of her dress robes and brought out a tiny box, which she opened to reveal a pearl pendent on a thin gold chain.

"Your gran gave this to me when I left Hogwarts," she said, her voice steady again. "My own gran had given it to her when she was the same age. It's been passed down to the eldest daughters for hundreds of years." She undid the clasp and slipped the chain around Ginny's throat. "I didn't know quite when to give it to you," she went on, fumbling with fastening the clasp, "but I think--now is the time."

It settled into place, the pearl resting just below the hollow of her throat. Ginny lifted a trembling hand to touch it, this ornament of womanhood. "Mum . . ."

Her mother had to wipe her eyes again. "It's so hard to believe you're already done with school," she said in a voice as wobbly as Ginny's own. "I remember what I was like at your age. I felt as if I could change the world, or at least own it--but you know--when it came right down to it--" She sighed. "When it came right down to it, all I really wanted was your father. It was terribly old-fashioned for those days, and the way things are _these_ days, well--I--I don't expect you to understand that, but--"

"No," Ginny said. "I _do_. I understand perfectly, Mum."

Their eyes met in the mirror, the same shade of brown. Her mum started to say something, but at that moment, the door bounced open.

"Come on, you two," George bellowed, "everyone's _waiting--"_

And the moment was lost.


	3. Part Three

Etta James sings the version of "At Last" that Harry and Ginny dance to. It's a great song, go get it. For any Bible scholars out there, I realize that a large chunk of the Charm of the Best Beloved is lifted from the book of Ruth . . . it's shatteringly romantic anyway, I hope. Enjoy. 

  


* * *

  


Fred and Angelina kissed soundly, to applause and laughter. Then the justice of the peace, who luckily was a wizard as well, stepped away from the front of the aisle and the entire crowd fell silent.

The Muggle vows had been recited, but those were for legal purposes and they didn't really carry the emotion that the coming charm did.

Ginny's eyes wandered to Harry, sitting in the second row back. His head was tilted towards Hermione, who was explaining to him in a nearly soundless whisper about the Charm of the Best Beloved.

It had been first performed during the Burning Times, those dangerous times when to admit oneself a witch or wizard to anyone one didn't trust implicitly was as good as a death warrant. It was true that Flame-Freezing charms were easily performed, but there were other ways to torture those of wizard blood. The Charm of the Best Beloved had been both safety net and celebration of all that was wizard and human. It had faded away after the end of the Burning Times, to be replaced by other rituals, but after the first advent of Voldemort, it had begun to be performed again.

Fred swallowed hard. This charm was performed without a wand, to show that it came from within and needed no outward focus to be kept. He swallowed again and started speaking in a slightly shaky voice.

"Thou art mine best beloved." As her brother said, "Angelina Mariette Johnson," Ginny's mouth formed the words, _Harry James Potter. _

"As I love thee I will never leave thee. Whither thou goest, I will go, where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, all the days of my life. I pledge my heart, soul, and body unto thee alone. Do with me as thou wilt."

  


* * *

  


"Ginny's left Hogwarts now," her mum told Harry over the table, beaming with pride. "Third in her class. First in Defense Against the Dark Arts, first in Charms, second in Herbology, fourth in Care of Magical Creatures--"

"It's positively sickening, mate, I tell you," Ron put in. "It's like when Percy left, but worse, because nobody was expecting it."

"Right after Christmas, it was," Ginny's mum rolled on, unstoppable as a tsunami. "It's as if she suddenly had a reason to excel."

"Maybe I did, Mum," Ginny said, looking Harry straight in the eye.

He looked away first.

"And her Apparition test!" Ginny's mum continued.

"Yes," Hermione said. There was a knowing glint in her eye. "Tell Harry about your Apparition test, Ginny."

Ginny blushed. She hadn't set out to, but-- "I beat Hermione's score," she murmured.

"Oh, don't put it like that--" Ron told her. "Hermione's score _was_ the highest set in three centuries, you remember," he told Harry. 

"I do, yeah," Harry said slowly. "Was?"

"Well, now Ginny's is--beat her by fifty points. Most flawless long-distance Apparition they'd ever seen." Ron grinned at Hermione. "Does her good to be beaten at something once in awhile, I think."

"As if chess with you weren't enough!" Hermione retorted.

"Now Ginny's got her pick of offers," her mum finished up, almost glowing. "Wizards all over the world have asked her to take jobs with them. She can do anything she likes." She shot her daughter a look. "Not that she's taken anyone up on it yet . . ."

It was a sore point between Ginny and her mother. "I told you, mum," Ginny said. "Nothing's caught my attention."

"Well, what will, dear?"

"I've got--a specific position in mind." 

Her mother was opening her mouth to say something that would probably start an argument when her dad turned up. "Molly," he said with a beaming face. "I've got the contract disc player hooked up. Come pick some music."

"Oh, but--"

"Come on," he said again, and chivvied his wife away with him. When he glanced over his shoulder and winked at his daughter, Ginny mouthed, _Thank you_ at her dad. While he was as baffled as her mum about her lack of interest in her future, he was wise enough to leave her to it.

Ron was explaining to Harry. "Dad found that player last year, and he managed to get it working--"

"Over Mum's _strenuous_ objections," George said dryly. "But Fred wanted some of this Muggle music, because he and Angelina like to dance--you remember them at the Yule Ball, sixth year--well, it would have been your fourth."

Harry stifled a snort of laughter. "Yes, I do."

George laughed too. "And Mum likes to dance, too, so she gave in on this one. Celestina Warbeck's all very well and good, you know, but I have to say she'll never match Ella Fitzgerald for dancing music." He paused and listened. "Sounds like that's who she's picked," he finished, and grabbed Morgan's hand. "C'mon, luv, let's go give Fred and Angelina a run for their money."

Hermione and Ron left in a moment, too, leaving Harry and Ginny alone at the table. Ginny toyed with her food.

"Ho, little Virginia! Lovely day for a wedding!"

Oh, dear--it was Uncle Nigel. He was one of those family relations that people invited to things like this because--well--they were _family_ and you just didn't ignore family like that, although you wished you could. 

_Stop that,_ Ginny scolded herself, accepting his whiskery kiss on her cheek. He really wasn't a bad sort, just a bit of a duffer. The trick was to smile and nod.

He settled down in the chair next to her, and Ginny heard it creak alarmingly. "Nice ceremony, eh? Wonder who's next!" He winked broadly at her. "Ronnie's dragging his feet a little, I hear--but George seems content to putter around--and Bill and Charlie haven't brought a girl home in years--and what about you, missy?"

Right, that was it--if he kept blathering about weddings, she wouldn't be responsible for her actions. "Harry," Ginny said quickly. "This is my Uncle Nigel. Uncle Nigel, this is a friend from Hogwarts, Harry Potter."

Uncle Nigel's mouth had fallen open a little at the famous name, but true to form, he recovered himself quickly, leaning across the table to shake Harry's hand heartily. "So, Harry Potter! A pleasure, really a pleasure . . . Who'd you say you were friends with from this family?"

Harry took back his hand, presumably too polite to massage the blood back into it where Uncle Nigel could see. "Everyone, really," he replied. "Ron first, and then the twins, from Quidditch--and then--"

_And then he saved my silly life because I hadn't any more sense than to keep writing to a diary that patently _didn't _have my best interests in mind_, Ginny thought ruefully. It was such an old regret, however, that it no longer had any sting. Could you count that as the basis for a friendship, she wondered.

"And then I sort of got absorbed into the family," Harry was finishing.

Uncle Nigel laughed heartily. "Bless her heart, Molly does seem to have the habit of adopting any strays that come her way . . . What're you doing with yourself, lately? Haven't heard much of you since the end of Voldemort--"

Ginny was expecting one of Harry's evasive non-answers, so when he said, "Oh--I've been sort of a jack-of-all-trades lately," her head snapped up.

"Really! How so?"

"I started traveling after--I left Hogwarts, and every so often I'd do a favor for some country's Ministry of Magic, and--well--" he shrugged. "Every so often became more and more often, until that's pretty much what I do now."

"Really! What kind of favors?"

"It depends on what they need at the moment," Harry said. "I've carried packages, relayed messages--that kind of thing. In Australia, I worked as a sort of consultant and liason to the Australian Muggles for several weeks."

Ginny could practically see the light go on over her uncle's head. "Oh, right--you were raised Muggle--you blend, don't you."

"Yes, that's part of it. Once or twice, I've looked into things that the ministries sort of had to be discreet about investigating."

Uncle Nigel chuckled. "Will you have to kill us if you tell us about them?"

Harry shook his head, smiling faintly. "Nothing so drastic, if I don't mention particulars. To answer your question: a lot of monsters, a lot of Dark Magic. I've run into Death Eaters left over from the war, vampires, werewolves, that sort of thing . . . it's not too comfortable sometimes."

Ginny gaped. Why was Harry telling Uncle Nigel, of all people about this?

Then his eyes cut to her, and she realized--he was telling _her_ too, in the hopes that it would discourage her.

She said clearly, "It's something like what Dad and Ron do, then."

"Something like," Harry said. To someone who had watched him for as long as Ginny had, the dismay was clear. "Sometimes."

Uncle Nigel said, "Well, isn't that--interesting. How--mm--varied!"

"It's really no sort of life for any sane person," Harry said, and now it was obvious he spoke to her. "I don't know where I'll be, or what I'll be doing, from one week to the next. I don't know whether I'll be in ridiculous danger, or it'll be just a wild-Snitch chase. Sometimes, I don't even know what language I should be speaking."

"And yet you do it," Ginny said.

"Yes, but--it's something to do. I'm not cut out to do nothing for very long, and there's not much I really like besides Quidditch. Plus I'm used to fending for myself." He leveled her a speaking look. "But someone who's always had a steady home and a family around them wouldn't like it very much."

She lifted her chin. "_Maybe_ someone who's always had a steady home and a family around them would be glad of a little excitement and change." She quirked her brow at him. "Especially if they don't know what to do with themselves either."

Uncle Nigel was clearly lost in the undercurrents. He gave a fakey-sounding laugh and said, "_Well_, good for you, Harry--it's good to have occupation." He heaved himself up, purple robes straining. "Think I'll see if we have a bit more cake--"

He left, and Ginny said, "Stop it, Harry."

His face was flat and expressionless. "Stop what?"

"You know what, and _stop._ It's not going to work."

"I was telling the truth, Ginny."

"So was I."

  


* * *

  


Ginny could only stand being carefully not looked at for so long before she gave up and accepted her friend Jeremy's offer to dance. He was such an old and dear friend that he didn't even have to ask what she was troubled about. 

"Nothing changes," he said ruefully. "You're just the same about him as you were first year, aren't you?"

"Not_ exactly_ the same," she protested.

"Exactly. The details have changed, but that's about it."

She thought about that for a little as they danced. "But he's not the same about me," she said finally.

Jeremy just looked at her.

"He's _not_! There's something there--I don't know what--but there is."

A few minutes later, Charlie danced by with Carmen, and switched partners. "Thank god," he said, once they were a few feet away. "I was getting sick of the moony-eyes."

Ginny looked at Carmen and Jeremy, grinning sappily at each other, and shook her head. "Honestly, Charlie, you're such a cynic about love, how will you know it when you find it?"

"I'm looking, Wee One. Believe me, I'm looking."

After Charlie, she danced with a few cousins, and finally with George. He was trying to make her giggle, but her attention kept drifting.

"What is it?" he demanded finally. "I know I haven't lost my sense of humor, so it must be you!"

She looked up at him blankly. "What?"

"Never mind," he grumbled. "I know what's got all your energy, and it isn't me."

"Sorry, George," she said contritely. 

He waved it away. "Don't worry about me," he said in a choked little voice. "You just moon about after Harry and pay no attention to your toiling brother trying his damnedest to cheer you up . . ."

She choked on a giggle at the mournful look on his face. "Oh, don't. I know what you're full of."

George glanced over at Harry, who was still at the table, patiently listening to yet another Weasley relation. "What about him?" he asked her. "Y'know what he's thinking yet?"

She sighed. "No, and I'm starting to wonder if I ever will."

"Hmf. I think I do, and if he's thinking what I think he's thinking, he needs to have another think, or I'll kick him square in the arse."

"What?" Ginny was completely baffled.

"Never mind. Come on." He danced her double-time over to the table and said very quickly, "Oi, Harry, do me a favor, dance with Ginny, got to find Morgan, ta!" He scootched away, leaving Ginny slightly spellshocked.

They looked at each other for a moment, then both tried to speak at once.

"You don't have to--"

"It's really no--"

They stopped. Ginny could feel her face heat.

"You don't have to do it, you know," she said. 

Something flickered through his eyes, and then he gave her a rather odd little smile. "What could it hurt? Just as friends. That's all."

She thought, _There's no such thing, not for us._ But she took the hand he held out.

As luck would have it, a new song was starting. It took Ginny a moment to recognize it, but it was strangely appropriate. "At last . . ." she murmured as she and Harry found a spot on the dance floor.

__

At last   
my love has come along   
my lonely days are over   
and life is like a song. 

He glanced down at her. He really was quite tall now. "Hmm?"

"Nothing," she lied.

__

Oh yeah . . . at last   
the skies above are blue   
my heart is wrapped up in clover   
the night I looked at you 

It was too slow a song for anything complicated, but it would have tripped Ginny up anyway. She was too involved in feeling the strength of his shoulder under her palm, and his hand in hers. 

There really _was_ no such thing as "just friends"--not for them.

_ I found a dream   
that I could speak to   
a dream that I could call my own   
I found a thrill to press my cheek to   
a thrill that I have never known _

Their bodies weren't plastered together, like some of the other dancers--but they moved in perfect sync anyway. They didn't speak, but Ginny didn't feel the lack, as the music slipped around them.

__

This was the way it was supposed to be. She'd only ever danced like this with Harry, and she had a feeling that there was no other man she could dance with quite like this. It would always be that way, whatever happened between them. It wasn't something either of them could wish or explain away. 

It just was.

She glanced up at him, and he gave her another little smile--not the tight, odd one he'd given her earlier, when he'd said, "Just friends." That time it had only been his mouth, and his eyes had been wary.

This one was much more Harry--sweet and understated, and much more with his eyes than with his mouth.

_oh, yeah, you smiled   
you smiled   
oh and then, the spell was cast   
and here we are, in heaven   
for you are mine . . . at last. _

The song was drawing to a close, and their steps slowed in time with the music. Ginny was still looking at his eyes, and saw the way the pupils dilated, so wide as to leave only a thin ring of green that nearly glowed. Her breath left her in a whoosh as those dark eyes dropped to her mouth.

Was he--really going to--

Then his head jerked up. Jolted out of her sensual haze by the motion, Ginny realized that the song had stopped, and so had all the dancers . . . and about five hundred eyes were trained on her and Harry.

He stepped back, almost stumbling, and said, "Thanks for the dance, Ginny." Then he hurried off the dance floor, leaving her alone.

And he left her alone for the rest of the evening.


	4. Part Four

This "trilogy" has suddenly mutated and grown extra stories, somewhat like an amoeba in a nuclear reactor. It's become the trilogy as defined by Douglas Adams. Don't ask me, I'm just the writer. There are three stories yet to come in the "Home" series now. 

  


* * *

  


Ginny was sitting on her bed, staring out the window. The party was still going strong, but after her dance with Harry, she hadn't felt like celebrating anymore. She'd stayed long enough for her mother to notice how tired she looked.

"When did you get to bed last night? Oh, for heaven's sake! Go inside, go to bed--that's _not _a request, Virginia Weasley!"

Ginny was happy enough to follow orders. She felt like a deflated balloon. She'd been looking forward to this evening all summer, convinced that finally--_finally_--Harry would come back, and he would look at her, and . . . 

Well, he'd come back. He'd looked at her. And he'd said, "Thanks for the dance, Ginny," and walked away.

The worst of it was that he'd _almost_--well, almost everything. Almost really looked at her, almost taken what she was offering, almost _kissed_ her, for heaven's sake!

Ginny flopped backwards on her bed, making the old springs creak, and covered her face with the pillow. "Almost only counts in horseshoes and Earthquake Curses," she mumbled into the down, and then flung it aside.

"Hot chocolate," she decided. Never mind that it was the middle of bloody July, she wanted hot chocolate. She considered making it magically, but half the comfort of hot chocolate was the process, so she pushed her feet into her slippers and crept downstairs.

She was almost to the kitchen when she heard Hermione's voice.

"She loves you, Harry."

"She'll get over it. That'll be the best thing for her."

Almost involuntarily, Ginny sank to the steps. They were talking about her.

"No woman gets over this," Hermione argued. "She wants to be with you--wherever you are."

"I know," and his voice was wondering. "How can she? I told you what my life is like now--and I know she was listening when I was telling her uncle earlier. Vampires and werewolves and rogue Death Eaters--God, Hermione, it never stops! How can she want to go into that, and how can she think I'd _take_ her?"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Harry!You heard Mrs. Weasley--Ginny's as much able as you are to deal with all that--maybe even more. Besides, haven't you ever heard the phrase, two heads are better than one?"

Harry's voice was flat, refusing argument. "It's too dangerous."

Hermione argued anyway. "She's faced danger with you before. She saved your life before." There was a long silence, and then Hermione said in a softer voice, "You're breaking her heart, Harry."

"Better than breaking her."

Another silence. "Did you know, Harry, that you can't look at me when you lie now?"

"I'm _not_ lying, Hermione. I'd rather she be in England, and safe, than somewhere else and dead."

"But you're also not telling me all your reasons for doing this to her."

Ginny held her breath, actually clamping her hands over her mouth lest any sound escape.

Harry's answer, when it came, was almost under his breath. "She--terrifies me, Hermione."

Ginny's eyes went wide.

"Terrifies you? What on earth do you mean?"

"She loves me _so much_, Hermione. And I'd say, how can _anyone_ love like that, except--I love her the same way."

Something like an earthquake shook her entire body, but only a tiny squeak escaped her mouth, and that was muffled by her hands.

"And if anything happened to her--I mean _anything_, Hermione--I honestly don't know what would become of me. Not only--" he had to stop. "Not only because she would be hurt--or--or worse--but that _I_ had done it to her--"

"It's not the Middle Ages," Hermione said sensibly, "and she's not a princess in a tower. She can handle herself."

"You're not going to talk me out of this, Hermione," Harry warned.

"I think I could," Hermione said. "I think I could very easily." She sighed. "It's your call, of course. But I hope you know you're throwing away the best thing that ever happened to you _or_ Ginny."

"To me, perhaps."

There was another long silence, which gave Ginny time to swallow the heart that had leapt into her throat and get her breathing back to normal. Then Hermione said in an obvious changing-the-subject voice, "Look, the party's still going on--let's go out and have some more to eat, all right?"

"You go on. It's late, and I want to get an early start."

"You're not leaving again! You just arrived this morning!"

"I've already been here too long." There was the scraping sound of a chair being pushed back, and Ginny leapt to her feet and flew up the steps, silently blessing the Anti-Creaking Charm her mum had laid on them only a few days before.

She stood, breathless, in the midddle of her darkened room until she heard his feet approaching her door. They paused, and she thought, _He isn't coming_ in_!_

But then there was a sigh, and the footsteps continued, up and away towards Ron's room.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, and her wand-tip sparked to life. She looked around the room she had been a child in.

Then, going to her closet, she took a battered rucksack that had once been Charlie's off the top shelf and began to pack.

  


* * *

  


She was nearly all night at it. Below her window, the party started dying down around the wee hours. When the last lamp had been extinguished and only Fred and Angelina remained, slow-dancing to some invisible orchestra, Ginny finally straightened up and stretched her arms above her head.

She'd initially overpacked, and then realized that Harry's life was so mobile she couldn't take much more than one rucksack. But she _needed_ extra robes, and soap, and toothpaste, and--

Finally she'd managed to pare it down to precisely what would fit. Now to make him understand.

She looked up at the ceiling and thought about waking him up. But--Ron was asleep in there too, as were a few cousins. She didn't fancy the idea of trying to talk him into taking her with all of them hanging on.

Maybe it was partly cowardice, too. Or maybe it was the determination not to let him have second thoughts.

She set her alarm for dawn and curled into her bed with a long sigh that ended in a little snore.

  


* * *

  


Orange light was filling her eyelids, and she thought, _There's something wrong with that_--

Morning.

It was the kind of light that accompanied full morning, not just dawn, and that was bad for some reason, because people left at--

Oh, god. 

Ginny sat up, fully awake in a quarter of a second. Oh god! What if she'd missed him? 

She nearly dove into the hard-wearing robes and sturdy shoes she'd picked out the night before, and snatched her rucksack and broomstick on her way out the door.

Her mother looked up from the stove as she came into the kitchen. "Was that _you_ thundering down the stairs, dear?"

"Where's Harry?" Ginny blurted. "Has he gone yet?"

"How did you know he was leaving?"

"_Has he gone yet?"_

"Well--yes--he left just a moment ago, Ron and Hermione walked out with him--" Her mother's eyes alit on her rucksack, and then flickered to her broom, held in the other hand. "Ginny--what are you doing with that? Are you going somewhere?"

Ginny swallowed. This was going to be hard, even with the speech she'd practiced over and over during her packing. "Mum--you know how you've always said I could do anything I wanted to do?"

Her mother nodded slowly, puzzled.

Ginny's hand stole up to her throat, where she still wore the pearl her mother had given her before the wedding. "Well--when it comes right down to it--all I want is to be with Harry."

"Ginny--" her mum trembled.

"And I'm going to be." Ginny flung her arms around her mother and kissed her on the cheek. "I love you, Mum--but I need him. And he needs me." She pulled back. "You do understand--don't you?"

Lip quivering, her mum nodded. "They were going out toward Ottery St. Catchpole a little way."

"Thank you. I'll write--I promise." Ginny gave her mum another hard hug and spun to dart across the kitchen, shove open the door, and leap over the steps. Was she too late? _Oh, don't let me be too late!_

She saw only Ron and Hermione at first and for a moment her heart stopped. Then she saw the untidy mop of white-speckled black hair a little in front of them, and her heart began beating again. She sprinted past them, not even slowing when Ron called out, "Oi, where are you going?"

She skidded to a stop in front of Harry. "Where are we going first?" she asked brightly, trying to pretend she wasn't wholly out of breath, both from exertion and pure fear.

"First . . ." he said uncertainly. "We? Ginny, what are you on about?"

He was trying his best to sound puzzled, but he knew perfectly well what she meant. She set her jaw. "I heard you talking to Hermione last night," she said. "In the kitchen."

His face closed up and his eyes flickered away. "That was--about something else--"

"You're a horrible liar," she said flatly.

Before he could make an answer to that, she continued, "I didn't need to overhear you talking to Hermione to know how you feel. She's right, you're a terrible liar, especially to me. And do you really think that _I've_ never been scared senseless by how much I love you? D'you think I'm always comfortable with this? I'm not, you know. But I want to be with you, even if it does terrify me sometimes."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. She was breaking through. 

She hurried on. "I know that when you told me you wouldn't take me until I left Hogwarts, you meant me to forget about this. But Harry, I _won't_. If you won't take me with you, I'll follow you--through hell and ice and the end of the world if necessary. I promise you, Harry Potter, you'll never be lonely again."

"You belong here, Ginny," he said in a fractured voice.

"I belong with _you._ Haven't you ever heard that home is where the heart is, Harry? You've got my heart. You are my home. And if you'll let me, I'll be yours."

There was a long, long silence.

"Where are we going?" she said again.

He looked at her, finally, but she couldn't read his eyes. After a tiny eternity, he said, "Choose."

Relief crashed through her in a great wave, and she could feel a smile blooming over her face. "Paris," she said. "I've always wanted to see Paris."

He nodded, and there was a kind of warm relief in his eyes too. He held up his hands, palm out, fingers spread. "Hold on tight," he said.

She fitted her hands to his, palm to palm, fingers weaving together. "I always have."

She could hear voices outside their circle of two, but her entire world had shrunk to the green of Harry's eyes. "On my three," he said. "One . . . two . . ."

And at long last, her life began.


End file.
